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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458333">blade without a handle</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime'>WingsOfTime</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>roza [23]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>CPTSD, Depression, Gen, Implied Emotional Neglect, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Relationship Study, implied trauma, it's only a bit "shippy" in the last section but everything else is estranged pre-friendship, playing a bit fast and loose with sylvari lore, post-confrontation scene but i give you timeskips, trahearne is old and has seen a lot, trahearne-centric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:29:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458333</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Trahearne and Roza's relationship was worse before it was better. A look on hurt, friendship, and forgiveness.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Trahearne/Male Player Character (Guild Wars)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>roza [23]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1252070</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>blade without a handle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>IMPORTANT NOTE: im referring back to a scene that happened in a previous fic, as a way to explain the events to people who can't/haven't read it but not having to redo all the legwork and emotional turmoil. this is why it may feel abrupt, but the actual confrontation that happened is not meant to be focus of it. it's the second scene here, so if you want to skip it, it begins with "Trahearne is—reeling." and ends with "on one's soul."</p><p>(also i really think what we know of how sylvari culture developed has the potential to imply major societal trauma. and the lack of reaction from the rest of the world after hoT points to them ignoring similarly traumatizing events in the past which then results in even more trauma due to the minimization and lack of empathy the sylvari are faced with. ok onto the fic)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Trahearne remembers the day Riannoc died.</p><p>He swore then, young as a seedling and still unknowing of what he was and how he functioned, that he would never forget. True to his promise, he did not. The Dream itself clung to the memory, implanting its grief into the minds of bright-eyed secondborn until that brightness dulled, and Mother learned. Now all the blood in their history is blocked before it stains the newborn pods, and the luminaries’ work is doubled. It makes it more difficult, but some things are better learned through teaching than through experience.</p><p>And yet Trahearne has to wonder, as he watches his new charge’s jaw tremble in severed pride, whether their mother’s protection has some holes.</p><p>Na Rós is this one’s name. A sapling with a loud voice but louder eyes, which seemingly learned to glare at the tender age of a few weeks. Trahearne had first seen this particular glower directed at Tegwyn, startlingly, after her return from her harrowing experience through the Orrian mirror. He had held her in his arms to comfort her, had gently called her <em>little sister</em>, and the Valiant had <em>glared</em>.</p><p>“I do not understand,” he is saying now, and now that Trahearne is finally listening to him, only him, with no one else around to distract him, he realizes it is not just offense that shakes his voice. “Have I not proven myself to you? Have I not shown you my strength and precociousness? So why—”</p><p>He breaks off, but his eyes flit to the drooping form of a retreating sylvari: the most recent target of his ire. Trahearne had had to follow and soothe the wilting leaf personally. <em>The poor thing</em>, he’d thought. He stands by his assessment of the situation, but there is a strange spark of <em>something</em> in the Valiant’s eyes that is urging him to fold his mind back once more. Whoever his mentor is should teach him to be more straightforward; Trahearne has to take a few mental leaps to figure out what troubles his new student. And then, in droplet of clarity clear as spring dew, he understands.</p><p>This sprout is so young—but a budding speck of green in the dirt. A newborn infant in the eyes of the other races. Mother knows saplings are too soft for the harshness of this world, too tender, yet still they come into it as adults. Still they must face its consequences head-on.</p><p>“Valiant,” Trahearne says.</p><p>The Valiant’s eyes flash. “What?” he throws back aggressively. “Are you going to lecture me again? I’m not going to go apologize to him. I don’t want to.”</p><p>His voice thins as he speaks, and Trahearne watches as he blinks a few times, adopts an expression of confused distress, and all but snatches warmth from the air in clumsy grab of magic. To… dry his eyes, Trahearne realizes in surprise. When had he learned that?</p><p>The Valiant’s glare doubles in intensity, as if he thinks he can get what he wants from Trahearne simply by being angry enough. Trahearne regards him a little sadly. <em>You’re allowed to cry</em>, he thinks, but dares not say. <em>Because you are but a fortnight old, because life is unfair, because you simply feel like it. The cause does not matter more than the release.</em></p><p>“That bent twig of a sylvari has not done anything to earn your attention,” the Valiant hisses, and yes, that is the very same look he had leveled at Tegwyn. “I have spent every day since you went back to Orr studying the Risen like that Warden did. I’ve braved the worst of the swamps just to get information for you.”</p><p>Sometimes Trahearne feels so old, so out of place here in the Grove amongst all these burgeoning, impressionable minds. “I never asked that of you,” he tries to say gently, hoping those are the right words. “And though it is good that you took the initiative, it has little bearing on this situation. You should not snap at someone who has done nothing wrong just because—” <em>You are jealous. </em>“—you are upset at something else.”</p><p>The Valiant’s expression shutters. Trahearne winces internally, half at the confirmation that he <em>has</em> said the wrong thing and half because he does not know how to handle this. He is no mentor—he has no wise words of guidance. He knows how to comfort, how to soothe someone who is so clearly upset like this, but he does not know what to do with this contradiction of a sapling, who spits poisoned words but with teary eyes.</p><p>One wrong word and he will go down the wrong path. One wrong word and the Dream turns into the Nightmare. Trahearne hopes his actual mentor is keeping an eye on him—he alone as a teacher for a sylvari this young would be disastrous. He mentally prepares himself to try again, reaching out with his hand—</p><p> The Valiant jerks away. “I’m going to ask Mother about Mazdak,” he says. “I will do something relevant, Trahearne. I will prove myself to you.”</p><p>He stalks away before Trahearne can stop him and straighten his line of thinking. He sighs. He will have to fix this before it settles into a behavioural pattern, he tells himself. This Valiant has much to learn still. Between Trahearne and his mentor, whoever they are, he is certain they can manage to wrangle him back on the path before it is too late.</p><p>~*~</p><p>Trahearne is—reeling.</p><p>His commander is standing in front of him, eyes on fire and body tense as a trigger. The burn of his words lingers in the air, only adding to the storm of anger and pain he is expelling in waves. Before Trahearne can say anything more than his name—such as <em>I never hated you</em> or <em>I never realized</em> or <em>Pale Mother am I sorry I failed you so terribly</em>—he goes off again.</p><p>“Of course you never cared,” he mutters, tipping his head up as if the tented ceiling is more worthy of his attention than Trahearne. “Why would someone like you give a shit about someone like me?”</p><p>And he keeps talking, brandishing each accusation like a knife. Trahearne forces himself to listen, although the ringing in his ears gets louder and louder with each passing second. He does not understand. He never thought he was <em>that</em> bad. Surely he is not the sole cause of all this pain? Surely there was <em>mor</em>e?</p><p>No, he will not deflect blame like that, even if he so badly wants to. Whether there was more or not, Trahearne will accept his part in all of this. He listens, tries not to flinch when Roza keeps going, and bows his head.</p><p>His commander storms out of the tent after Trahearne manages to scrape enough of what is left of himself off the ground to reassure him. Without the shroud of Roza’s conflicting emotions obfuscating his mind—even he has difficulty blocking something that potent out—his breaths come out easier, if still weighted with guilt. He closes his eyes, trying to sort through that absolute disaster of a confrontation with his mind before his heart can get a hold of it. He is the first of the sylvari, the oldest—it is his duty to be strong. To keep calm for his kin when they cannot.</p><p>He blinks opens his eyes, and his vision shifts into wet crystals. Ah.</p><p>He should have seen something like this coming; it is not as if he did not notice anything was wrong. It is hard to miss the harshness behind Roza’s eyes, the black mark of rage and grief that has clung to him ever since it razed his innocence to the ground. Trahearne does not know what happened to him, but he allows his commander his pride because he understands the need to use it as a shield. Without it, what is he? What is there left to do but break? Oh yes, Trahearne understands far better than he wants to.</p><p>He just never expected—Roza has been nothing but civil to him. Laudatory, even. Trahearne had been eager to see what kind of sylvari he would turn into after he aged out of saplinghood; someone cool, calm, and mature, he’d initially thought. He had <em>thought</em> he’d found someone who would finally understand his goal for the simple reason that he shared it in part. Someone who would accept him. And he is not blaming Roza for his anger—he cannot find it in himself. But to discover that the one person whom he’d assumed was naturally, if slowly, befriending him without any ulterior motive in mind has in reality been harbouring a seething hatred for him for who knows how long…</p><p>It <em>hurts</em>. Thorns, does it hurt.</p><p>Trahearne sinks down into the nearest foldable chair. He wishes he could talk to someone about this, but there is no one. He dares not destabilize the delicate state Caithe is in, and besides being an obviously impossible choice, his commander apparently does not care to so much as give him the time of day. Who is left that he is close to? His cats?</p><p>Trahearne presses his hands to his face, digging his fingers into his bark. Not for the first time, he finds himself wishing Riannoc were still here. He knows it has been years, and he knows he should let go of a ghost, but…</p><p>It is like Roza has just proven. Pain does not leave so easily once it has left its mark on one’s soul.</p><p>~*~</p><p>Roza’s footsteps are more silent than the dead’s. Trahearne would know—he has fought off seemingly hundreds of them within the last week alone. It is why, when he hears a delicate cough from behind him out of absolutely nowhere, he startles so badly he nearly falls off the Pact’s shiny new airship.</p><p>He turns around as casually as he can, attempting to preserve whatever dignity he has left. He thinks he sees his commander’s mouth flicker, as if he’d just smiled, but that can’t be right. Roza straightens up, squaring his shoulders and locking his hands behind his back.</p><p>“Marshal,” he says, “I am here to offer you my congratulations.”</p><p>Trahearne shakes his head. “Defeating Zhaitan was solely your victory, Commander. It is I who should be congratulating you.”</p><p>Roza’s eyes crease. “Actually, I’m referring to how easily you managed to sneak away from everyone. It’s quite an accomplishment.”</p><p>His voice is light. And then he actually smiles, small and dry but there. After a hesitation, Trahearne smiles back, relieved that he is back in Roza’s good graces for now. He still can't believe he had gotten a <em>hug</em>, of all things, after cleansing Orr. He is chalking it up to the thrill of an impossible victory.</p><p>“I came out here to think,” he begins, preparing to voice his musings.</p><p>“You are incapable of thinking when surrounded by hundreds of people who are eagerly waiting to scream their congratulations in your face?” Roza tuts as he strides up to him. “Likely story. Hey, do you think they’ll let us just take off in this thing?”</p><p>There is a beat as Trahearne digests that—Roza must truly be in a good mood if he is <em>joking </em>with him—and then he tries a chuckle. “We probably shouldn’t find out,” he replies. “Although… I think they’d have to let it go. I am their Marshal, after all.”</p><p>He doesn’t quite know where to steer this conversation. He is on uneven footing, navigating a territory he has never trodden with Roza before. Something has always come between the two of them, some ever-shifting conflict. It’s a little absurd, really—an Elder Dragon has just been killed, an alliance Tyria has never seen the likes of before has just been forged, and Trahearne is standing here wondering how to tell if someone wants to be his friend. He feels like a sapling all over again.</p><p>Perhaps a hint of his uncertainty shows in his voice, because Roza tilts his head to the side and studies him with a gaze that is a little too discerning. After a beat, he sighs.</p><p>Before Trahearne can even think of reading into that, his commander steps forwards and gives him a hug.</p><p>It is a little firmer than the one back in Orr, if shorter. And yes, it is a little pathetic that Trahearne is comparing the two. After a tiny squeeze, Roza pulls away.</p><p>“You are <em>my</em> Marshal,” he says in the tone of someone who is about to stick their hand into boiling water. His left eye twitches. “And… I am sorry.”</p><p>Trahearne stares at him for a solid three seconds. He tells himself not to read into <em>my Marshal</em>, because, well, that is probably just how Roza talks. “For what?”</p><p>Roza snorts airily. “For how I have been treating you, I suppose.” He begins slowly, as if he is choosing each word with some care, but not too much. “It is wrong of me to be so harsh to you, especially when you are always cordial and polite. It makes me look bad. And… I do not like seeing you trudge around everywhere like a wilting leaf waiting to be clipped.”</p><p>He nods, confident. “Yes. It is not my place to strangle your roots. Grow tall, Trahearne.”</p><p>That may very well be the strangest apology Trahearne has ever received, and by the Tree will he accept it regardless. “You have been a steadfast ally to me even across the distance you keep. I am more than happy to bridge that gap and put the past behind us,” he says in relief, reaching for another embrace. “Thank you, Roza.”</p><p>His commander stops him with a hand on his chest and a vaguely repulsed expression. “Do not hug me.”</p><p>Despite everything, that makes a laugh want to burst past Trahearne’s lips. “Noted,” he says, fighting it valiantly.</p><p>Roza looks at him warily, but after a second the tension drains from his body. His harsh eyes soften, and the firm line of his mouth loosens into something resembling a smile. For the briefest instant, he looks like the sweet sapling Trahearne had met all those moons ago.</p><p>“I could not have asked for a better friend at my side throughout all of this,” he says.</p><p>And Trahearne thinks that if he opens his mouth now, he may start laughing and crying at he same time like some sort of deranged leafy toddler. So he only smiles back, closed-mouth, until his cheeks ache from the sheer force of it.</p><p>~*~</p><p>Trahearne’s commander withdraws inexplicably sometimes.</p><p>His charming manner drops, his shields slam into place, and Trahearne cannot read him at all. He never knows what causes it, or what he can do to stop it. After a while Roza always comes back to him, usually following an unforeseen trip out to the far reaches of Tyria. Trahearne knows by now not to take it personally. He does not begrudge him his solitude. Even when it is inconvenient, he can cover for the absence if he needs to.</p><p>He only wishes Roza would talk to him.</p><p>Tyria is abuzz with word of Scarlet Briar, and Roza has recently returned from one of his impromptu excursions. His mouth and mind are present, but his eyes are unfocused, distant. Trahearne wonders what is troubling him. He wants desperately to help; he would do anything to ease his commander’s burdens.</p><p>Roza glances up at something a Warmaster is saying, feigning interest perfectly. Trahearne’s gaze lingers on the arch of his brow, the curl of the leaf around his throat. He wonders if he could keep Roza present in the moment for long enough to make him smile. He wonders <em>how</em> he’d manage to do that.</p><p>He wonders when this meeting got boring enough for him to start daydreaming about his heart’s favourite interest like a fleshling teenager. He clears his throat, rubbing at the hard bark of his cheek. Six pairs of eyes turn to him, Roza’s first.</p><p>“I believe we are done here, unless anyone has anything they would like to add.” Trahearne pauses obligingly, and does an admirable job of hiding his sigh of relief when no one speaks up. “Very well then. Dismissed. Commander, if you could stay, I’d like to speak with you for a moment.”</p><p>Roza’s eyes have locked onto him. “Good. I’d like to speak with you as well, Marshal.”</p><p>By the bough. Trahearne represses a shiver at the sheer intensity of his… everything—what happened to being a million miles away?—and nods, trying to look impassive.</p><p>Roza keeps staring at him as everyone files out. Trahearne offers him a smile, but he strangely does not return it. Instead, his placid brow creases with a frown.</p><p>“Off the record, Roza,” Trahearne says softly, attempting to allay his anxiety. Roza’s bark smoothes out once more, although Trahearne gets the feeling it is not from his assurance. He steps forwards, nodding at the desk at the end of room.</p><p>“Sit,” he orders simply.</p><p>Trahearne lifts his eyebrows, but walks over to his desk and sits obediently. He leans back in his chair, a little amused. “And what are we discussing, Marshal Roza?”</p><p>Roza does not roll his eyes, but instead intertwines his fingers and frowns again. Now Trahearne is somewhat concerned. Is he alright?</p><p>Roza’s ear twitches. He says, plainly and uninflected, “I was wondering why you’ve been so melancholy as of late.”</p><p>Trahearne looks at him in surprise. But yes, now that he searches for it, he can read the worry in Roza’s eyes, in the tenseness of his shoulders. He has been stressed about <em>him</em>?</p><p>“I was about to ask you more or less the same thing, actually.” He tries to deflect, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know you’re having one of your grey periods. Is there anything I can do to help? Truly anything, Roza.”</p><p>Roza frowns at him. “I think my concern is more pertinent,” he says, less gently. “I am—”</p><p>He breaks off to pace—two quick, controlled steps. Stops. “Trahearne. I am always like this. It is how I am made. But <em>you</em>, you are nothing but kind and patient. Did you notice how curtly you were speaking to everyone today? You weren’t exactly rude, but it is obvious that something is bothering you. And considering your tolerance for bullshit, it must be something significant.”</p><p>He ends his impromptu psychoanalysis with complete stillness and a probing stare. Trahearne used to feel like a fluttering insect pinned to the table by that stare, but now his thoughts barely get disrupted. (Or they are do, but in a different way, and he is <em>not</em> going to think about that right now.)</p><p>“Commander, I can assure you—”</p><p>“Don’t ‘Commander’ me.” Roza rounds his desk in less than two seconds, stopping a handspan away. With Trahearne seated as he is, he has to crane his neck up to meet his gaze. “I am sorry if I am putting you on the defensive, Trahearne, truly. But listen to me before you push me away: I am—<em>we</em> are worried. The people who… care about you, that is. I am not the only one who has noticed your troubled countenance, my Marshal.”</p><p>His tone softens with the last sentence. Trahearne reads through his attempt at minimizing how much he is obviously concerned, and sighs.</p><p>“I am not going to push you away, Roza,” he says, far gentler than he means to. Brambles, but the quasi-nickname has melted his defenses considerably. Roza somehow always manages to do that, whether it is intentional or not. “Fine, we can speak frankly if you wish to. Ah… perhaps sit down first. My neck hurts already.”</p><p>The ghost of a smile flickers across Roza’s mouth. “Are you offering yourself as a seat?”</p><p>Trahearne has the sudden urge to grab the nearest pen and stab himself with it before he can let his mind run away with those words. “Ah—ah, not as such,” he says, licking his lips.</p><p>Roza lets out a low laugh as he—thankfully—moves away. It is good that he is feeling well enough to torture Trahearne, at least. Perhaps he will die from embarrassment before they finish speaking, and his commander will have bigger things to worry about than why he has been behaving like a woebegone paramour abandoned at the docks by their sailor love.</p><p>“Spill your insides,” Roza requests a minute later, folding himself backwards on the chair he has dragged over. He lays his chin on the backrest.</p><p>Trahearne allows himself a brief smile at his wording. He sighs and runs a hand through his foliage, wincing when some leaves crinkle under his touch.</p><p>“It has been a rough week,” he allows, contemplating how to best phrase his thoughts.</p><p>Roza’s pale knuckles tighten a fraction around the post of his chair. “I see,” he says in a tone that is so alien in its sympathy he must have stolen it from someone else. Probably Laranthir.</p><p>“You have been away a lot recently.”</p><p>Roza nods as best he can. “Yes,” he says, not dismissively, but in an urge to continue.</p><p>Trahearne pauses. “That is it. You have been away a lot recently, Roza.”</p><p>He watches as the realization, and then surprise, creeps into Roza’s gaze. His grip slackens, and his chin lifts off the chair.</p><p>“I was under the impression things were under control in the Pact. Are they not?” Now nervousness fidgets its way into his fingers. “Shit. Was I needed? I do apologize, Trahearne. I did not intend to leave when my absence would cause dysfunction. Do I—can I fix it? Thorns.”</p><p>“Nothing fell apart. It’s alright,” Trahearne reassures. He crooks a smile. “You’re fine. It is just that… I missed you, Roza. Although please don’t take this as me telling you to never leave my side.” He laughs softly, but Roza’s expression turns troubled. “You are of course allowed your solitude. I only wish that I could help you somehow. If there is something you need that I could be providing but am not… I’d feel terrible. That is mostly what has been concerning me.”</p><p>“Nothing less than death will make me leave your side,” Roza says fiercely.</p><p>Considering the reflective expression he adopts immediately afterwards, he doesn’t appear to expect a response to that statement. Probably for the best, as Trahearne’s voice has momentarily detached itself from his body.</p><p>After a moment, Roza swallows. “‘Mostly?’” he questions.</p><p>Trahearne finds his voice again and winks. “I may also have recently discovered a shellfish allergy. Startling implications.”</p><p>Roza blurts out a laugh, although he immediately cuts it off with a snap of his mouth. Trahearne would tell him that no, it is endearing, but he wants to keep all of his body parts attached to where they belong.</p><p>Roza looks away. “Trahearne, you… you are too sweet. You care too much for me, and—mulch.” His bark colours, and his teeth flash nervously. He continues under his breath: “Thorns, you make me so bloody flustered sometimes, and I do not understand it. I am not deserving of this kind of attention.”</p><p>Trahearne puts a hand to his warm cheek. When Roza meets his gaze once more, he frowns. “Do not tell me to whom I should and should not show kindness. It is <em>my </em>decision to care about you, Roza. Not yours.”</p><p>Roza turns a richer hue of gold. “I—um. Okay,” he mumbles. The ridges in his branches pulse a dull lavender for a second, but Trahearne does not point it out.</p><p>He brushes his thumb over the groove in Roza’s cheek as praise. For a moment, he gets the urge to roll his hand down until he can do the same to his lower lip, see his face flush even further, and where in Pale Mother’s pretty petals had that thought come from? He needs to redirect himself. Ah, right—</p><p>“And you are deserving of <em>everything</em>,” he adds lowly.</p><p>Roza breath skitters into a shaky cough. Trahearne, taking pity on him, lets go. Has it gotten a tad warmer in his office? He should go open the window.</p><p>He gets up to do just that, stretching with a low groan. Thorns, but sylvari weren’t made to do this much sitting and standing still. He should pop by the menders’ tent when he has time, just to check that everything is fully functional and healthy. He opens the window, resting his head against the frame for a second as he breathes in the crisp ocean air.</p><p>Roza has flipped his chair the right way around when he returns to sit at his desk, and is digging his nails into his palm. “There is one thing,” he mumbles.</p><p>Trahearne leans over his desk, covering his fidgeting hands with his own. They flex briefly, then still. “What?”</p><p>“If you are going to get all bossy, I mean. I suppose there is one thing that I’ve been thinking about for a while. I… do not know whether or not you could provide it, however. Or if you even would.”</p><p>Trahearne would do anything. “Name it.”</p><p>Roza’s throat bobs in a swallow. “Yes—I. I mean. Alright. Do you know Malomedies? The firstborn?”</p><p>Malomedies? “Not as well as I do Caithe, but yes, he and I keep in contact.” Trahearne has the most in common with the more intellectual of his siblings, and Malomedies has intellect in spades. “Why, would you like to meet him?”</p><p>Malomedies also happens to be the reason why Trahearne has experience in handling Roza’s darker thoughts and more… troubled tendencies. His brother had the same look as he does in his eye for a long, long time. The same tendency to isolate. The same avoidance of being touched, of talking about how he was feeling, of accepting help. Luckily, he managed to heal, but… Trahearne will not repeat the mistakes of his youth. Not when it would cost him Roza.</p><p>“I think he could help you,” Trahearne concludes, returning his thoughts to the present. Probably more than he himself can, to be truthful.</p><p>“Help me?” Roza doesn’t seem to understand. “Yes, I do want to meet him. Sort of. More than that, actually, but I am unsure if…”</p><p>He rubs at a branch at the back of his head, uncharacteristically nervous. Trahearne gently squeezes his shoulder.</p><p>“It really wouldn’t be a problem to arrange,” he says sincerely. Malomedies will understand. He cares far more than others give him credit for, especially for those such as Roza. Trahearne has no doubt he would agree to speak with him.</p><p>“I wanted to audition to be his student,” Roza blurts out. He locks his fingers together, and continues, “I know I will likely not make the cut. He is—he is a <em>savant</em> in his field. I had a chance to read one of his published studies, and it was incredible. I barely understood anything. And I am not exceptionally intelligent, I know. I am not even a Night bloom! So I do not think. He would accept me. Um.”</p><p>He looks down at his lap, clearing his throat self-consciously, then picks at a loose flake of bark on his thumb until it tears off.</p><p>“It is an idiotic idea,” he mumbles.</p><p>Trahearne strokes down his arm reassuringly. “It is not, Roza. You are not giving yourself enough credit. You <em>are</em> intelligent, and even if you weren’t born of Night, Malomedies doesn’t discriminate. I’m sure he would welcome the chance to teach you.”</p><p>“Why, because of my position in the Pact and my relation to you? You can’t know that.” Roza sinks in his seat. “He is a <em>luminary</em>. I am not good enough for him. How can I be, if I wasn’t good enough f—”</p><p>He cuts off abruptly, suddenly avoiding eye contact. Trahearne’s hand falls away, and he winces.</p><p><em>… if I wasn’t good enough for you</em>, hangs in the air, unsaid.</p><p>Trahearne heart suddenly feels heavier than the weight of all his responsibilities combined. “Roza,” he says.</p><p>Roza stares at his desk with blank eyes. “I didn’t mean to say that,” he mutters.</p><p>“Roza,” Trahearne repeats. He reaches out once more, but Roza pushes back his chair until he is just out of reach.</p><p>“It does not matter anymore.” He sounds subdued. “I… I decided you were worth more than a grudge long ago. And things are obviously different now. It does not matter.”</p><p>Trahearne feels a sudden flash of an emotion he hasn’t felt in Roza’s presence for a long, long time. Anger.</p><p>“Na Rós, you <em>listen</em> to me,” he says in a tone that brokers absolutely no room for argument. He doesn’t give Roza time to do anything more than look up at him with startled eyes before he continues. “You are the bravest, brightest, and absolutely most <em>brilliant</em> person I know. Anyone who earns you as a student should think themselves the luckiest person in all of Tyria. And if I did not realize that back then, then may my past self be thrown to the nightmare hounds. So don’t you dare say you are not good enough, and don’t you dare tell me how <em>I </em>ever felt about you. Maybe I had problems expressing myself in the past, yes. But when you doubt these lies you tell yourself? You come to me, and I will set you straight. I will <em>not</em> leave you to wallow in your misery until you rot in it, not again. Do not try to make me complicit in something I never agreed to.”</p><p>Finished, and having more or less burned through his furor, he slumps heavily in his chair. That was perhaps a little aggressive, but it was necessary.</p><p>Roza, whose eyes had gotten progressively rounder throughout his speech and are now about the size of the moon itself, stares at him in silence for a few beats. When it is clear Trahearne isn’t going to continue, he gives a tiny nod.</p><p>“Yes, Sir,” he mumbles meekly.</p><p>It would be a little funny if Trahearne were less worked up. He only nods back, once, before he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Holds it.</p><p>“Um.” He opens his eyes again when he feels a light tap on his hand, and his breath comes back out in a rush. Roza is kneeling in front of him, his chair now sitting empty on the other side of the desk. Trahearne’s brain, just about ready to wind down again, goes into overdrive.</p><p>“I would be taller than you if I were standing, so,” is Roza’s jerky explanation. Trahearne does not deserve this. He is a good person. He points to his desk.</p><p>“Sit,” he says.</p><p>Roza gets up and sits.</p><p>Trahearne motions for him to speak so he does not have the chance to think about how quickly he obeyed. Pale Mother, maybe he <em>should</em> see a mender after this.</p><p>“You said to come to you if I doubt the—ah, if I doubt myself.” Trahearne remembers this clearly, considering it was about thirty seconds ago. “So… I do not think he will like me. Malomedies, that is. No one is terribly fond of me at first, you know.”</p><p>This Trahearne can deal with. He accepts Roza’s beseechingly outstretched hand, and it squeezes lightly in thanks. “How did you make all these new friends you have told me about? Did you pretend to be someone else, or were you your genuine self?”</p><p>Roza frowns thoughtfully. “Like minds, I suppose, but… very well, I see what you mean. Alright, I have more.”</p><p>He sounds so very business-like, Trahearne almost has to smile. But fine, he will sit here and reassure him all night if he has to.</p><p>“Many more?” he questions. At Roza’s nod, “How about this: You may stay here for the evening, if you wish to, and we can talk over dinner. Does that suit you?”</p><p>An odd expression passes over Roza’s face, almost so faint as to be unnoticeable. Then he gives Trahearne nod, a shy glance, and a smile so sweet it nearly takes his breath away.</p><p>“You are something amazing, my Marshal,” he murmurs, reaching up to cup Trahearne’s cheek like he had done earlier. “One day I will be deserving of you.”</p><p>“You already are,” Trahearne says as cool fingers stroke his temple. “I only wish you could see it.”</p><p>They creep upwards, slipping through his foliage. “Then one day,” Roza vows, “I will believe you beyond a shadow of a doubt. It feels so monumentally impossible, but I swear it, Trahearne. For… for you and I both. We will be happy.”</p><p>And then he laughs, and although it is still an erratic, fragmented sound, it has hope.</p><p>~*~</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>;u; that's it! roza's hurt and actions are complicated but interesting subjects, and he doesn't necessarily work them out in the best way, but he gets there eventually. if you wanna chat about it, you can drop me an ask or message on @draw-you-coward on tumblr. or comment it if you feel comfortable haha! i of course always love to read your thoughts ;v; . i think this will be the last one for this batch so wishing u all the best until the next one!</p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pquLcwR_MfU">last minute song for this one c:</a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
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